


key

by dayslikestars (bluedreaming), lollipophush (bluedreaming), nightslikerain (bluedreaming)



Category: 2AM, 2PM (Band), Miss A
Genre: Blood, Car Accidents, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/dayslikestars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/lollipophush, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/nightslikerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a small cough, and Jinwoon looks over Chansung's shoulder, the two of them still wrapped around each other, his heartbeat still pounding. There's a woman standing next to a bench, waves of rich brown hair, a white shirt peeking out from below a sleek black coat. <em>This must be Jia,</em> he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberrymalt](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=strawberrymalt).



> **Prompt used:** VIXX LR’s [ Beautiful Liar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKTaIsFkCcY)
> 
> Title from [A Beautiful Lie](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/712406) by Tara E. Sivec.  
> You should listen to the soundtrack for [A Single Man](https://open.spotify.com/album/2gYTjmdlEDTcKkUq5icG0u) while you read this.

 

 _“I see myself_  
_in the mirror_  
_and I ask myself_  
  
_Will it really_  
_make you happy_  
_if I let you go?_  
―[VIXX LR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKTaIsFkCcY), Beautiful Liar

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_It was snowing, that day, thick flakes falling in wet clumps from the sky, drifting down to coat his eyelashes, melt on the cracked patches of his lips, chewed ragged from too many examinations and final papers and everything that had to be finished before the end of the term.  
  
The phone rang, and Chansung had answered it, an after thought, he was expecting it after all, and Jinwoon was already late.  
  
"Where are you?" he'd asked, voice only faintly accusing as he shivered in the watery afternoon light, the sky muffled by clouds.  
  
"Is this Hwang Chansung?" a voice had asked then, interrupting his thoughts, cold and plain and stark in the suddenly ringing silence.  
  
That's when he had known. The sudden red blooming in his mouth, teeth piercing his dry lips, mirrored a different scene, pain painted in careless splashes on white snow._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Jia looks up from her phone, where she's typing in a quick reply to Fei about the final colour for the table floral arrangements. Chansung has both hands up in the air like his soccer team has just scored the winning goal moments before the end of the game, and the grin on his face is brilliant. She's half curious, and half just wants to go over and wrap her arms around him in a hug, drinking in his almost tangible joy.  
  
"What happened?" she asks, tipping her head instead and matching his smile with her own. "Did you win the lottery?"  
  
"No, though that would be a close second," Chansung says, eyebrows furrowing slightly, their inside joke at the astronomical cost of weddings even though they can afford it, "Jinwoon can make it after all!"  
  
 _Jinwoon is Chansung's university friend_ , Jia remembers, _the one he's asked to be his best man._  
  
"Isn't he in—," she rummages through her brain for the answer, "Brazil or something?" There's a bleep from her phone, Fei responding to her answer, but Chansung's patent delight is more important right now.  
  
"No, Morocco," Chansung says, waving a hand absently, "but it doesn't matter because he says he got a placement here!" He pushes away from the desk in his swivel chair and comes over to give Jia a hug and presses a happy kiss to her temple.  
  
"I'm so glad for you," she says, and pulls him close.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jia is laughing at him, the way his leg is bouncing as he sits next to her in the waiting area; Jinwoon's flight has been announced but there's such a crowd of people that Jia, always the sensible one, has suggested they meet outside the coffee shop instead. Chansung sticks out a tongue at her, and she only laughs harder, reaching over to squeeze his knee.  
  
 _What if he's different?_ Chansung thinks, but he's not worried, not exactly; they've talked to each other ever since university, but it's been years. His fingers curl up into his palms, tips touching the skin.  
  
And then, even before the voice reaches his ears, he _knows_ , eyes darting up to snag Jinwoon's face in the crowd.  
  
He's changed so much, thinner, more precise somehow, and yet he's the same, the essence of Jinwoon is exactly the same.  
  
"Chansung?" he hears, already flinging himself forward, arms wrapping around his friend and best man as the force of his embrace knocks Jinwoon a few steps backwards, arms coming up to wrap warmly around Chansung's back.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There's a small cough, and Jinwoon looks over Chansung's shoulder, the two of them still wrapped around each other, his heartbeat still pounding. There's a woman standing next to a bench, waves of rich brown hair, a white shirt peeking out from below a sleek black coat. _This must be Jia,_ he thinks, and smiles as warmly as he can, even though he's tired after the long flights. He's never been able to be at ease in enclosed metal transportation units, ever since—  
  
"You have to introduce me to your lovely bride," he murmurs into Chansung's ear, who finally sighs and draws away, though he keeps his fingers tightly tangled in those of Jinwoon's right hand. Jinwoon can feel the metal band of the ring on Chansung's finger pressing into his skin.  
  
"This is Jia," Chansung says, and beams at her, as he steps forward, "and this," he beckons to Jinwoon, their fingers still interlocked, "is Jinwoon, my best friend." Jia's right hand is outstretched, the invitation of a handshake apparent, and Jinwoon starts to reach out to return the gesture, but his fingers are still caught in Chansung's grasp.  
  
"Um," he hums, awkwardly, and Chansung laughs, letting go as Jinwoon reaches forward to shake Jia's hand. Her skin is warm and soft, and despite his exhaustion and the lingering discomfort of the plane, he finds his smile deepening, reaching up to his eyes. He only knows what Chansung has told him about Jia, but he thinks he likes her enormously already.  
  
"Thank you for coming," she says, and Jinwoon nods.  
  
"Thank you for having me," he says.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jia will admit to herself that she'd been worried about having a stranger stay at their apartment, and then promptly felt terrible about herself for even daring to think something like that, even though Fei had reassured her that it was perfectly normal and that weddings were high stress situations enough, anyway, but she finds, as they start to navigate around each other, that Jinwoon is a wonderful person.  
  
He's kind, and thoughtful, and smiles sometimes when she's ready to pull out her hair because of the florists and the caterers and everything that weddings seem to be about, and he's good at keeping Chansung busy too when he comes home from work with too much energy and nowhere to put it.  
  
"What do you want for supper today?" Jinwoon asks, voice drifting in through the archway to the kitchen, while she sits, frowning at her inbox.  
  
"You don't have to make supper, you know," she says, pushing up from her desk where she's not getting anything done anyway. Jinwoon is leaning over the sink, filling the kettle with water.  
  
"I know," he says, turning the water off with one hand, and flicking the element on with the other; his motions are calm, controlled, like everything he does. "But you're letting me stay here until I can find my own place, and I just want to help out."  
  
He looks back, over his shoulder, his smile genuine, and Jia discovers that the smile on her face is just as warm.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When his eyes open, it's the middle of the night. 3:13 the red lines of the alarm clock tell him, the colour harsh to his eyes. Chansung reaches over, but Jia is sleeping, like any sane person at such an ungodly hour. He knows he should sleep too, but he's restless, there's an itch under his skin, the itch that he usually fills by messaging Jinwoon, but Jinwoon is here now, asleep in the other room, and Chansung doesn't know what to do.  
  
 _I can't really message him._  
  
Without thinking about it, he finds himself slipping out of bed, tucking the cover back down around Jia so that she doesn't catch a chill. The floor is cold beneath his feet, and he remembers _snow_.  
  
And then he remembers his dream, and suddenly even Jinwoon's room just down the hallway is too far away.  
  
"Jinwoon?" he whispers, peering in through the half-open door. There's only silence, in the darkness, and he's just about to turn away, maybe turn on the tv or something, when there's a soft stirring, the sound of crumpling sheets, and a sleep-rough voice.  
  
"Chansung?" Jinwoon sounds like he's still sleeping, but Chansung's bare feet step over the cold floor and he slides into bed, the way they used to, the way—  
  
His arms, wrapping around Jinwoon, are cold, but the blanket is warm and Jinwoon only hums, slipping back into sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jinwoon stirs, feeling strangely warm. After Morocco, before that Brazil, he's used to the heat and it's strange to be surrounded by cold again; despite the heating and warm coffee and the smiles of friends, he's gotten used to waking up with the lingering chill of cold sheets as he stretches his arm out to the other side of the bed.  
  
Today, however, his arm stops before it's even begun, and Jinwoon blinks his eyes open, startled. There's the quickest twist—crumpled metal, fear, and the smell of sticky rust—but it's gone as soon as it's come. Jinwoon has buried his demons, and he's comfortable with that. When he looks down, he realizes that there's a shock of black hair nestled on his chest, _Chansung_ , he recognizes, before his brain catches up to what he already knows, Chansung is curled around him in bed, arms wrapped around his torso, their legs tangled. Jinwoon wrinkles his nose in confusion, _how did—?_ but he's still half asleep and Chansung is so warm and comfortable and it feels, for the first time, exactly like it used to, their final years of university, before his itchy feet had convinced the rest of him of their necessary wanderlust and he'd set off to roam the globe.  
  
Jinwoon sighs happily, head sinking back into the softness of his feather pillow but a sound, not quite a sound, catches his attention, followed by words.  
  
"Chansung?" It's Jia, down the hallway, and Jinwoon looks down at Chansung, still curled around him, and doesn't know what to do, mind whirring frantically as Jia peeks around the frame of his doorway, her rich brown hair atangle in soft messy waves, "—Jinwoon, have you—?" and then their eyes meet, and she sees where Chansung is.  
  
And blinks, mouth closing softly over confusion, a sudden vulnerability creasing her brow before it's smoothed blank and she disappears from sight, before Jinwoon even has a chance to try to explain something that he doesn't even fully understand.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chansung sighs into his coffee, eyeing the dark liquid and trying to decided what to do. Jia was strangely. . .quiet at breakfast, not the good kind of companiable quiet, but something almost fragile, a silence so loud that it set his teeth on edge.  
  
Several times, he'd opened his mouth, and then closed it again, trying and failing to find anything to say that wouldn't just make everything worse. And Jinwoon had just made himself a useful shadow in the background, pouring coffee and frying eggs and being so inoffensive that Chansung had wanted to scream. But he hadn't, just nodded and eyed the clock over the window and muttered a quick goodbye and tried not to look like he was running away, even when that's exactly what he knew he was doing.  
  
He takes a gulp of coffee, and grimaces at the lukewarm contents of the cup. _I didn't do anything wrong,_ he thinks, and it's true, but he knows that it's only part of the truth. He looks at his computer, the inbox overflowing with emails, the stack of paper on his desk, and tries to figure out how he can begin to unravel the knot that suddenly appeared in their happiness.  
  
Chansung's phone rings, suddenly, vibrating off the desk and onto the ground where it continues to sieze across the cold floor. He doesn't check who it is before he answers.  
  
"Hi Fei," he says, and spares a smile for her smothered laugh on the other end of the line.  
  
"How did you know it was me?" she asks, before he can hear her shaking her head, the sound of her hair brushing against the mouthpiece.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, before she has a chance to say whatever she's called to say, and he already has a good idea of what that is.  
  
There's a pause, and the sound of air; Fei is sighing softly. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," she says quietly, and Chansung lets his head fall forward onto his desk, head colliding with the wood, the thud audible.  
  
"I didn't do anything wrong," he says, and even though it sounds like an excuse, it also rings true.  
  
"What happened?" Fei sounds tentative, and he's not sure why.  
  
Face still pressed to the wood, eyes shut, he tries to explain. "I woke up, and I couldn't sleep, and I remembered—the accident," he finishes lamely. "I was just going to get a glass of water but I ended up in his room instead."  
  
There's a silence then, hanging between them, humming across the wires. "Chansung," Fei says, and he knows it's going to be bad when she says his name like that. "Do you love Jinwoon?"  
  
Chansung's heart skips, stops for a moment, restarts, thundering through his ears. "What?" he asks, confused and bewildered; it feels like he's lost his footing, feet sliding off the edge of a cliff. "I don't understand."  
  
"Let me phrase it this way," Fei says quietly, her voice muffled by the sound of his breathing. "Do you want to marry Jia?"  
  
"Yes," Chansung replies, without having to think about it, because it's true. Nothing has changed. "I love her."  
  
"If you could," Fei continues, relentlessly, "would you marry Jinwoon?" And Chansung can't breathe. His first reaction is a resounding _No_ , but then he thinks about it, and realizes that he can't lie, not right now.  
  
"I—I don't know," he chokes, and all he can hear is Fei's startled intake of breath of the other end of the line as the phone slips out of his grasp.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The kitchen is quiet in the aftermath of Chansung's departure. Jinwoon curls his fingers around the scalding porcelain, sooths himself with the burn for a moment before setting the cup down on the table and taking a seat.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, even though he's not really sure what exaclty he's apologizing for, in this tangle of something that's gone very wrong.  
  
Jia sighs, drawing her knees up and resting her chin on her jeans. "I feel—" she begins, and then stops, blinking as she reaches for the cup of coffee that's somehow just out of reach of her stretching fingers. Jinwoon leans forward and pushes it towards her; she takes a sip and sets it down again, finger trembling a little and some slops over the side before it's safely resting on the surface of the table again. "I feel like I'm over-reacting," she finally says, eyes looking up from the coffee to meet his. In the early morning light, her eyes are warm, brown. "And yet," she continues, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, like a habit, "I feel like this has been coming for a long time."  
  
Sitting in the watery glow of a winter morning, Jinwoon has to agree. He tries to think of something to say that will help explain the complicated thing that has somehow become Jinwoon&Chansung, that has somehow always been Jinwoon&Chansung, a friendship coalescing after the accident—  
  
"I know this sounds like an excuse," Jinwoon finally says, watching the way his fingers tangle together, the light shadow he casts on the table, "but even though we do love each other—" he hears a muted intake of breath from across the table, but keeps forging on, "—it's not like, it's not the way he loves you, or you love him." He stops then, wondering if he's only made everything worse.  
  
"But what happens," Jia finally says, her voice barely a whisper, "what happens when you find your own place? When you leave? Can you say goodbye again?"  
  
Their eyes meet across the table and Jinwoon realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he's been ignoring the issue. That maybe part of his decision to come back permanently was more than a great work opportunity. That maybe this really is as complicated as it seems.  
  
Jia nods, the silence answering her question more effectively than words.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jia stands in the coffee shop down the street from Chansung's office, staring at the menu. Despite the chaos cycling through her head, she'd managed to get through one contract and after sending everything out and finalizing the invoices, she'd decided to take a walk, clear her head.  
  
Jinwoon was out, a meeting with his next employer or something, and had apologized saying that he wouldn't be able to make supper, and probably wouldn't be back until evening. She'd nodded absently, fingers clacking away on the keys, but smiled, just a little, because somehow she couldn't find it in herself to be angry with him. Jinwoon, who was kind, and who, despite the complicated situation, was not a bad person and who hadn't lied to her.  
  
She hadn't planned to walk this far, streets passing by in a blur of thoughts, but she wasn't surprised to see the familiar sign of the coffee shop, slipping through the doors with only the slightest moment of hesitation.  
  
She's still looking at the menu though, and trying to decide if she should stop by to see Chansung, or just flag a cab and go home. It's cold outside by now, and she definitely needs a warm drink.  
  
Her phone rings, buzzing in her pocket, and Jia answers without checking the screen, "Hi Fei."  
  
Fei laughs, and Jia feels just a little better. Their brief conversation this morning had helped, but now, several hours later, Jia feels a little calmer, the routine work of a contract settling her into the grounding familarity of the quotidian.  
  
"How are you?" Fei asks, without preamble.  
  
"I'm trying to decide whether I should stop by to see Chansung at his office," Jia replies, because she knows they need to talk, but she's not sure if the office is the best place.  
  
"Don't tell me you're at the coffee shop," Fei says, and even over the line, Jia can tell she's grinning. She doesn't bother answering a question that they both already know the answer to.  
  
"I'm not sure what to do," Jia says instead. "I feel like I'm blowing this out of proportion, and yet. . ." her voice trails off as she tries and fails to put the feelings bubbling in her chest into words.  
  
"And yet this is an important thing," Fei continues for her, "because you're just about to get married, which is a huge step in shaping the rest of your life."  
  
Jia nods, even though she knows that Fei can't see her. "I feel like if I just say, 'it's okay, let's get married as planned,' it's going to fester beneath the surface and explode."  
  
And just like that, she knows.  
  
"I'll call the venue and the caterer," Fei says quietly, and Jia murmurs a quick thanks before she ends the call, shooting Chansung a quick message.  
  
meet me at the coffee shop. we need to talk  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There are two steaming cups waiting on the table in front of Jia when Chansung pushes through the doors of the coffee shop, a nervous feeling in his stomach. Jia pushes the full one towards him, as he slide into the seat across from her, and takes a sip from her own cup.  
  
"I—" Chansung starts and stops again. Jia's face is carefully blank, her eyes bright as she bites her lip.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says, and Chansung is confused, opening his mouth before she stills it with a hand to his wrist, reaching across the small table. "I'm calling off the wedding." And then he's horrified.  
  
"But I—but you—but I love you!" he finally bursts out, his exclamation muffled in the busy coffee shop full of voices talking, laughing, going on with their lives as his is falling apart.  
  
"I know," Jia says, her voice quiet as it somehow rings through his head. "I love you too."  
  
Chansung feels a blooming wetness in his chest, like something is breaking, like the sandcastle of his future is slipping through his fingers even as he struggles to contain it.  
  
"I don't understand," he finally says, head bowing down over the table, hand palm up on the surface. "Is this about Jinwoon?"  
  
"Yes and no," Jia says, and her voice is decepively light. Chansung looks up again to see a single tear budding on her lower eyelashes.  
  
"We're not—we're not like that," he says, though he already knows his protest will be ineffectual, even before she shakes her head.  
  
"I know," Jia says, reaching over to tangle her fingers together with his; Chansung holds on, as though dangling from a cliff. "But you're something."  
  
Chansung thinks about what Fei had asked him earlier, and about what he had answered. _I can't let you go,_ he thinks, and he's not sure whether he means Jia, Jinwoon, or both. _Both._  
  
"Can we figure this out?" he finally says, meeting her gaze. He's not sure what she can read in his eyes, but he knows, suddenly, that she wants to make this work just as much as he does. "I can't let you go." Jia's fingers squeeze his hand briefly, before she pulls them back, tucked in her lap.  
  
"Do you mean me or Jinwoon?" she asks.  
  
"Both of you," Chansung says without thinking, "for different reasons." He finds, the words having already escaped his mouth, that it's true. He loves Jia, and wants to marry her, but he also loves Jinwoon in a way that's warmth and comfort, not kissing and slippery bodies in the dark.  
  
"I want to figure this out," Jia says, interrupting his thoughts with a firm voice, the voice she uses when she's made up her mind about something, "if you'll figure it out with me."  
  
"I want to," Chansung says. "I really want to."  
  
"And maybe," Jia says, "we can always get married next year, after all." Her smile is tentative, but warm.  
  
"Warmer weather," Chansung nods. He looks down at their two coffee cups, hers half empty, his still full.  
  
"Drink your coffee," Jia says, and flashes him a small grin. And just like that, Chansung knows it's going to be okay.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
_Epilogue_   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_The birds are singing as Fei steps out her front door, hand stretched up to shade her eyes from the autumn sun. She'd heard the letter carrier earlier, and wondered what he'd brought.  
  
"I'm not expecting anything today," she tells the robin, sitting on a branch of the tree in the front garden. Reaching into the mailbox, she pulls out a creamy white envelope, and smiles._  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
together with their friends and family   
_hwang chansung_   
&   
_meng jia_   
invite you to celebrate their marriage   


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [Unreal2pm round 5](http://unreal-2pm.livejournal.com/27069.html).


End file.
